Convergence
by Of-The-Stars
Summary: Grissom and company are introduced to a new face at CSI, who has a connection from the past to one member of the team.
1. Convergence Prelude

**Notes:** _CSI is the property of CBS, Alliance, and Jerry Bruckheimer. I own nothing but 'Rachel Elliott' is an original character. Feedback is appreciated!_

"**Convergence"**

**Prelude**

Rachel Elliott was glad to be taking a different route within the Bureau. It would be a welcome change. Though there were many fine agents within the FBI, she had also found an equal number of assholes just like Culpepper. To her, their kind seemed never ending.

She was tired of standing witness to glory seeking and butt kissing. After 6 years of service, she was finding that they were beginning to make her life a living hell. She certainly didn't mind the hard work or long hours or not even having a life. But dealing with characters like him had nearly driven her to resign and find work elsewhere a number of times. Everything about him was repugnant.

So, when the opportunity for a new position opened up, she made her application in record time. It was a liaison position, part of a test program designed to build rapport and increase information exchange between local and federal law enforcement. She knew she would still have to deal with Culpepper as a supervising agent. But she wouldn't have to endure his false sincerity and underhanded motives on a daily basis—all of which were made to ensure his advancement within the Bureau.

She had recognized that her varied professional background would make her a competitive candidate, but with only 5 nationwide positions she didn't rate her chances very high. It just seemed like when she really wanted something, that it would never go her way.

She knew if she were lucky enough to land one of the positions that she wouldn't get a choice in the assignment location. The open slots were going to be in Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Houston, Atlanta or New York City. But she allowed herself a little wishful thinking. Going back East would be ideal… closer to where she had grown up in Asheville, North Carolina, closer to what little family she had. But, on the other hand, that could be asking for trouble. She knew being closer to home had the real possibility of rubbing salt in the wounds of old memories. She shrugged the thought away. What did it matter? It seemed no matter where she went, it seemed they always managed to ensnare her anyway, even in the most benign moments of life.

She got the call she had hoped for the following week. Culpepper asked her to meet him the following morning at 7 a.m. He had paused dramatically at that point in the conversation, as if silently anticipating her to begin frenzied and excited queries on what was going on.

He went on to say that they were going to fly together to her new assignment. After advising her of the details, he had again waited for her to speak, probably wanting to her gush her thanks and her indebtedness to him for this news. She could just hear it in his voice. 'Screw you,' she thought, and chose instead to deny him any pleasure of the sort. She responded calmly and with complete professionalism. "I'm so pleased to hear the committee's decision. I look forward to this new opportunity." She refused to give him one damn ounce of credit.

He didn't deserve any.


	2. Convergence Chapter 1

**"Convergence"**

**Chapter: 1**

Jim Brass knocked as he strode through Gil Grissom's open office door. Grissom was seemingly transfixed on a small glass jar containing his latest insect acquisition. It was from a corpse of woman who was stuffed into a drain and recently found by a city maintenance crew.

"Chocolate covered grasshoppers, again?" Brass wisecracked.

Finally looking up over his glasses, Grissom responded, "Hardly. It's the third stage larvae of _Calliphora Vicina_. Blowfly," he clarified. "Usually the first to the party, if you will. Researchers report observations where it can detect a fresh dead body from over 100 feet overhead. This little guy places time of death at around 4 to 5 days…, but considering the body was tightly crammed into an underground drainage pipe… it may be a bit longer than that…"

Brass grimaced, regretting his joking inquiry. "Great. I think I just lost my appetite." He never liked that part of the job and he certainly didn't relish hearing about the creepy-crawlies with which Grissom was always inextricably enthralled.

Knowing this, Grissom smirked and walked over to a shelf containing a wire rack and carefully deposited his find into it. "So what brings you by today?"

"Ah, well, you're gonna love this-- ," Brass paused briefly for effect, as Grissom walked back to his desk and glanced at a few papers lying there. "Feebs."

Grissom's expression suddenly grew wary and squinting, he cocked his head slightly, as if weighing how Brass' news may impact his unit. Confused, he asked, "Feebs? I assume you're referring to the F.B.I.?" As soon as he finished the question, realization suddenly dawned upon his face and his eyes widened, "Not Culpepper again?"

"Technically—no. Though last year, the high and mighty at the Las Vegas P.D. saw fit to put in an application to be one of five cities in the nation to test out a new type of liaison program with the _federales_."

He paused briefly, watching Gil analyze the information he was being given, and then continued his explanation. "Guess the Sheriff still has a mayoral election on the brain, huh? Anyway, the program is one in which local law enforcement has a FBI agent on the premises, uh, _actively _working with our guys. Supposed to improve interagency communication and uh--", he glanced down at the one of the pages in his hand, "'quote' work to foster better relationships between local and federal law enforcement. 'end quote.'"

Grissom sighed, "Let me guess, I'm the lucky winner?"

Brass nodded in response, "Well, it _is _Vegas, after all…isn't everybody a winner…."

"Jim, wait a minute, you said 'technically' it wasn't Culpepper…"

"No. Not Culpepper but an agent formerly assigned with him. And my bet is that he ain't sending someone he doesn't already trust to be his eyes and ears—ya know, just waitin' so he can be able to swoop in and save the day—or at least get on television."

Grissom considered this, but decided not to read too much into things. He sat back down at his desk and began shuffling through his phone messages, "Well. At least we have some time before this 'test' is initiated, right?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure," Brass sarcastically replied, glancing briefly at his watch. "'Bout half an hour to be exact."

"What?"

"Guess they're just getting' an early start, huh?"

-----

Twenty minutes later, assembled in one of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department's smaller auditoriums, sat Sheriff Brian Mobley, Rick Culpepper, and LVMPD's Criminalistics Division Director Cavallo. The three men sat clustered on the speaking platform, their heads bent forward in hushed conversation. On the large screen behind them were joint images of both the LVMPD's and FBI seals.

Interspersed throughout the room sat several of the crime lab's staff, as well as various representatives from different departments of the Vegas Metro PD and the local FBI office. Brass and Grissom entered the room to find Catherine and Sara already seated. Grissom was half-surprised there wasn't TV cameras. Then he quickly assumed, correctly so, that this was a forum solely for the department and local government. In other words, no press allowed.

Catherine glanced at Gil. It was clear to her that he was not pleased, though he was masking it extremely well. She knew how he hated wrinkles that prevented the crime unit from doing their jobs—which was dealing with the evidence. He found it—rightfully so, an annoying intrusion to his realm of the crime laboratory. And she knew the presence of Rick Culpepper only exacerbated that irritation.

"Where's Nick and Warrick?" Catherine whispered as Grissom settled into a chair.

"Nick phoned in to confirm their pages and said they would be up as soon as they finished logging in some evidence."

Catherine nodded, and wondered to herself what this whole thing was all about. Her pager's cryptic message had only said to report to Conference Room 113 by 4:30 p.m. She wanted to ask Grissom for details, but decided against it. Besides, the meeting was clearly getting ready to begin. Despite that, she didn't need confirmation. It was easy to do the math -- Culpepper plus Grissom equaled trouble.

The panel participants began to take their seats at the sides of the podium and, Director Cavallo was the first to speak. "Hello ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming. Today, we are so very glad to have you join us as we announce a joint effort by the Las Vegas Metropolitan Pol—"

Suddenly, the door opened, and Greg entered somewhat noisily. He met the annoyed stare of the speaker, and most of the audience for that matter, and a sheepish and apologetic grin quickly crossed his face as he held up his hand in apology. Hurriedly, he scooted down the aisle and took the seat on the end, next to Sara. She glanced at the brown paper bag and foam coffee cup in his hand, and immediately noticed that he acted a little defensive. It had to be his treasured cup of Blue Hawaiian coffee. Sara tried not to smile. Greg _could_ be cute, especially when he wasn't trying to be.

Cavallo continued, "As…I was explaining, it is a great honor for the Las Vegas Metro PD to have the opportunity to welcome the expertise, resources and varied experience of a federal agent to our department on a full time basis. I know that Sheriff Mobley and myself were greatly pleased to hear that Las Vegas would be a part of this valuable outreach program. I know you all are busy with ongoing cases, and I don't wish to keep them from you any longer than necessary, so I will quickly hand over this presentation to Special Agent Culpepper… Rick, if you would, could you explain a bit more about what this program entails…"

Culpepper stood, shook hands with Cavallo, and strode to the podium. He flashed a saccharine, toothy smile as he looked around the room at the faces focused on him. His gaze met Grissom's, and hovered for just a moment on Gil's vacant expression. "Thank you very much Sheriff Mobley and Director Cavallo. Can't tell you how pleased I am to once again be in your fine city."

He continued on, "Simply put, this program was developed in order to promote interagency cooperation _and_ communication on both the state and federal levels. If certain types of information were more readily accessible, leads on cases could be quickly generated, and arrests and prosecutions could be more easily secured. This information sharing will apply from the investigation to the courtroom, and from the realm of police to the lab of some of our country's best forensic scientists." He paused, feeling full that he had the audience's concentrated attention.

"Granted, for the time being, it is a field trial, which we expect to last anywhere from six months to a year. However, speaking on behalf of the federal government as well as Sheriff Mobley and Lab Director Cavallo, we feel this program has far reaching implications to the effectiveness of the criminal justice system. Now -- on a personal note, let me share with you how very pleased I was to learn that a member of my team had applied, _and_ was successfully selected to participate in this program. So, without further delay, allow me to introduce to you the applicant chosen to reside here with you as an ambassador to this program. Without a doubt, I know she will be a great asset to you and this department…" he droned on.

Greg's head snapped up from playing with his coffee stirrer when he heard that the liaison was going to be female. He grinned widely to himself, "Yes! A _she_! Hopefully she's _hot_," he thought, scooting more upright in his seat, his attention to the presentation considerably renewed.

Nick Stokes silently pushed open the door and entered the conference room as Culpepper continued to speak, and took an empty seat behind Grissom and Sara. "Where's Warrick?" Grissom asked.

Nick leaned forward and whispered, "Held up in Evidence. Finishing up now."

Culpepper was still droning on—, "…like to offer a brief introduction. She has been a valuable member of the Bureau for 6 years and has been enjoyed success in all of her assignments. She has varied FBI training, ranging from SWAT to hostage negotiation experience to domestic security. Throughout her tenure at the Bureau, she has also spent extensive time in the study of forensics. I think you'll find her to be well versed in many techniques employed here at the LVMPD. "

"It is important to underscore the fact that Agent Elliott is here to act as a liaison to _you_. If you have questions, need input, suggestions, procedural advice or just a neutral sounding board, Special Agent Rachel Elliott will undoubtedly prove to be just as invaluable to Las Vegas Metro PD, as she has in every capacity to the Bureau."

Culpepper paused, and raised his hand toward the back of the audience, and gestured, "Special Agent Elliott, would you care to come forward and say a few words…"

The audience shifted a bit, then began glancing around trying to see who this person among them was, as she had not been seated with the suits onstage. That small detail had been at her request. Culpepper hadn't minded anyway and had quickly agreed to her suggestion. Less people on the podium meant he would be more of a focal point. His quick agreement to her suggestion had only served to confirm her knowledge of his attention seeking behavior. She had to strongly resist the urge to roll her eyes from her utter and complete disgust.

Her perspective within the audience had permitted Rachel to observe a few of the crime scene investigators' body language and whisperings throughout the talk. She knew instinctively that it had been a good choice to ask to be seated away from the stage. Many seemed to share her opinion of Culpepper.

She certainly didn't want to jump out of the starting gate in this new assignment with resentment already in place because of her association with Culpepper. She knew all too well from talk at the field office water cooler that he had stepped on some toes the last time he was here.

She strode forward, and took the podium. "Thank you Special Agent Culpepper, Director Cavallo, and Sheriff Mobley," she paused, smiling slightly at the audience. Placing her hands lightly on either side of the podium, she continued "Good afternoon, everyone. I am very much looking forward to meeting each and every one of you, and to working _with_ you," she spoke earnestly.

"This is actually my first visit to Las Vegas, but I'll do my best to adapt quickly to the way you operate so that my presence here doesn't impede you in any way. I don't want to take up any more of your time, I know how very busy each and every one of you are, but please know that should you ever need to speak with me, or require my assistance in any way, please know my door is always open to you. Thank you."

Catherine grumbled quietly, "I take that to mean she gets an office? I don't have an office." She looked at Grissom, and observed pointedly, "_You_ have an office."

"Yeah, but I also have the headaches to go with it."

Sheriff Mobley briefly took the podium, once again thanking Agents Elliott and Culpepper, and concluded the conference. The murmurings in the room increased as attendees rose from their seats and began to filter out of the room. Rachel was greeted by several of the personnel on their way back to their labs and desks, and received their varied welcomes to Las Vegas. As she spoke with a man named Archie, an A/V tech, she noticed the man she knew was Grissom out of the corner of her eye. He was head of the night shift CSI's, if she remembered correctly, and he was exiting the room. He was talking with another man, a detective she ascertained from the badge he displayed.

She finished up her conversation with Archie, "I appreciate your kind welcome… I really do look forward to working with everyone here. Oh," she looked to where Grissom had just left the room, "I hate to rush off, but there was someone I needed to speak with, and I just saw them leave… would you excuse me a moment…" she smiled and quickly filtered her way through the thinning crowd to try and catch Grissom.

She picked up her pace, and caught up with him as he was walking with Brass as they followed the rest of his shift down the hall, "Hello! Dr. Grissom?"

Gil nodded, and extended his hand. "Agent Elliott… it's a pleasure. This is Jim Brass."

Brass also nodded, "Agent Elliott, nice to meet you. Please excuse me. I have a phone call to make. Catch you later, Gil."

"Sure," Gil then turned to face Rachel Elliott once again.

"I was hoping to arrange a time, convenient to you, of course, to speak with you."

He nodded, actually appreciating her effort. "Uh, sure." He glanced at his watch, "I need to hand out scene assignments. But will you be free in about 20 minutes?"

She wasn't expecting him to agree to meet that soon, but she quickly agreed, "Uh, yes, that's fine."

"Just come by my office. I should be through by then."

"Great." Rachel smiled, relieved that he didn't seem to be holding her association with Culpepper against her… yet, anyway. "Thank you, Dr. Grissom." She turned and headed back to the auditorium.


	3. Convergence Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 "Convergence"**

_(Author Note: A few LVMPD codes are used in this chapter. A 419 refers to a dead body. A 420 refers to a homicide and a 407 indicates a robbery.)_

Grissom silently watched as Agent Elliott strode back down the hallway toward the small crowd still exiting the auditorium. Her heels echoed with each step and he considered their conversation for a moment, and then continued on his way through the labyrinth of hallways.

He walked into his office, only to find Catherine ensconced in a chair in front of his desk. Her feet were propped up on his desk as she absently examined a small glass container filled with a live blowfly specimen. "Hey Gil. So, what are ya thinkin'? Good or bad?"

He looked at her, knowing she meant Elliott's presence, and then at her feet on his desk. He paused for a beat, and then acknowledged, "Undecided."

"Still gathering evidence, huh?" she said, grinning, knowing that having her feet propped on his desk was driving him nuts.

"Ah, something like that… Do me a favor… get everyone assembled in the breakroom… I'll be there in 5 minutes."

Cath simply nodded and then extricated herself from the chair and left him alone.

Five minutes later, the door to the break room whooshed open and Grissom entered, looking over his eyeglasses around the room. He noted that everyone except one was there. "Okay… Where is Warrick? He's still not here?" a bit of impatience was infused into his voice. Brown had missed the meeting, and now he wasn't here to receive new assignments.

Just then, Warrick Brown pushed through the door, files under his arm and a bit out of breath. Grissom only looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Sorry, Gris." Glancing at Nick, he spoke, pointing to Stokes as he walked around the table, "You are a lucky dog. Right after you left, a cart full of evidence came in from that 420 on Stewart Street came in, and guess who got bumped back."

Nick grinned devilishly. "Poor baby. What can I say? Lady Luck likes me." Sara and Cath sat, looking on, and also smirking a bit at the exchange.

Warrick huffed skeptically and again apologized, "Sorry again, Gris. So, what happened-- what did I miss? I got the page, but you know what happened."

Grissom nodded, "No, you did the right thing. Chain of custody is more important. And since Nicky here thinks he is so lucky, he can fill you in on the details. Here—" he passed a slip of yellow paper to Warrick, "You two are covering the 419 at the Bellagio. Uh…let's see—third floor of the parking garage. Catherine and Sara, a 407 at the Convention Center."

"Come on, Grissom," Sara whined, "we sat through that whole presentation, with Culpepper no less, _and_ we were on time! They get the DB and we get a robbery?"

Grissom looking up from his paperwork seemingly befuddled at her complaint, shrugged, and simply answered, "Yeah."

She sighed, frustrated. "Wait… come on, what else you got there," she stood and tried to peek at the clipboard. "Are you saving a good one for yourself?"

"No Sara." He looked at her blankly, "Besides, there are never any 'good ones.' I've got a meeting and afterwards, I'll check in with you." He left the room, still engrossed in his paperwork.

The meeting with Agent Elliott had gone well. She was prompt, organized and succinct. She genuinely seemed very interested in every aspect of the lab and had expressed an interest in becoming actively involved in working cases. In addition to working active cases, she asked him to consider submitting any cases that he had a 'feeling' about, as well as any that had been problematic in solving at the time they had been committed…for whatever reason. She clearly was interested in becoming a better investigator, and wanted to learn from this experience.

At first, his initial instinct to her second request had been one borne out of defensiveness. Why did she want to look at old or problematic cases? Was she looking for something specific? Something to put his unit in a bad light?

But, then again he readily recognized that he wasn't good with people, after all—didn't Catherine tell him that all the time? He couldn't deny wondering whether this eager FBI liaison's involvement would quickly prove to be a thorn in his side, but he examined her expression, and the tone of her request and went with his instinct. "Okay. There _are_ a few cases that I would be interested in hearing your input. Maybe a pair of fresh eyes can bring new perspective."

Rachel could clearly sense his thoughts, and leaned forward slightly in her chair, "Listen, Dr. Grissom –" she was interrupted by him as he raised his hand.

"Call me Gil…, or just—Grissom."

She smiled slightly, and exhaled before continuing, "Grissom. I truly believe that my presence here can be a good one. I'm not here to slam people or degrade their reputations, or to nitpick someone's work. Maybe there is a missing puzzle piece that I can uncover--- or something I can add. And who knows? Maybe it'll break a case wide open." She smiled again. "I'm not Internal Affairs. I'm not here to spy on you or your unit. I just want to help, if I can."

Her smile had been genuine, and he believed her. He had voiced his concerns about Culpepper, for example if he tried to inject himself into Elliot's work. Rachel had known this was coming, and was glad Grissom was direct about it. Her voice strengthened, "My loyalties are to the cases, and to justice. Not Culpepper. I readily admit I know a little of your past interaction with him. You can be assured that is not my angle here at all."

He nodded. "Very well. Drop in tomorrow night. I'll have an old case for your fresh perspective—and… I'd like you to meet everyone."

5


	4. Convergence Chapter 3

**"Convergence"**

**Chapter 3**

The next evening, not long before the night shift was to begin, Grissom sat in his office perusing an old case file. Though now solved, it had been one that had originally caused some backtracking and some serious reevaluation of the evidence. He wanted to see how Rachel would approach the case in its unsolved form.

A slight knocking on the door frame got his attention. Greg Sanders stood in the doorway. "Hey Gris. Got your page. Need me to run something?"

"No, actually, I don't. You've heard of the FBI liaison—I want you to meet her."

A grin spread across Greg's face. He caught himself immediately, though it was a little too late and cleared his throat, replying nonchalantly and nodding, "Okay. Sure. From the briefing? No problem."

"Don't get too excited, Greg. She'll be meeting everyone."

"Oh I know… Cool." He continued nodding, attempting to convince Grissom.

"Just make sure you're available in about half an hour, in the conference room, okay?"

"Sure," he then spun around in a quasi-dance move and began walking back down the hall toward his lab.

Grissom chuckled inwardly, and went back to reviewing the file. Shortly thereafter, he heard someone walking down the hall and looked up when the footsteps stopped. "Good evening." Rachel stood in the entryway. "Hi, hope I'm not too early…"

"Come in, Rachel, have a seat. The other CSI's will be around shortly to meet you."

He watched as she entered, took off her coat, and settled into the seat across from his desk. He could tell from her scan of the room that the surroundings interested her.

"Here-- I wanted to go ahead and give you this. Drop by tomorrow evening if you get the chance. I would like to hear your initial impressions then."

"Sure. Thanks. I appreciate it."

"So," he got up and busied himself assembling some blood collection supplies, "are you getting settled in?"

She smiled, slightly shrugging, "Yeah, it's always an adjustment—moving. After my time with the Bureau, though… Well, let's just say I'm getting used to it by now. But I finished moving into my apartment—and am getting acclimated."

"You picked and moved… here to Vegas?"

"Uh, yeah. Seems like I'm always moving. After college it was to Philadelphia, then D.C., then New York, then Denver. But, I was told that I would be staying in Las Vegas, with the local field office, for about a year after this 'experiment' is concluded, so thought 'oh well, why not?' Better than living out of a suitcase like I have been, for…. I don't know how long. Maybe it's time for new roots…" She sighed, watching Grissom move around the room.

She continued, a little anxious to fill the silence, "Everyone seems really nice here. I think I'm going to like working here a lot."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Your office is just around the corner and down the hall, right?"

"Yes. Tech services were quick to get my computer up and running. Even though I don't start for a couple more days, what with orientations and all, I've been trying to get organized and everything. I'm going to finish up after our meeting."

He had sat beside her, and began organizing the materials he had collected. Her left eyebrow shot up quizzically, "What's—going on?" and then laughed a little nervously.

"Collecting your donation. You have already eaten right?"

"Uh--- a few hours ago actually."

"That should be okay. Left arm or right?"

She again laughed, deciding to be a good sport, and began rolling up her sleeve, "Left, please."

"Feel okay?"

She got up slowly, testing her steadiness. "Yeah, I'm good. I usually get a little woozy after donating. Low blood pressure doesn't help. But I actually feel pretty good—this time."

"Good." He tucked the blood collection bag into his mini refrigerator. "Let's go, shall we?"

Sara waited in the conference room impatiently. She glanced out occasionally at Grissom's closed office door. "Chill, Sara," Greg chided. "It's not even time yet." He quickly received a dirty look.

"I have work to do, Greg. I don't have time for social hour."

Cath observed Sara as she walked over to the vending machine to get some chips. It was all too clear that Sara felt threatened. Catherine knew Sara had an interest in Grissom and the feeling didn't seem to be mutual. Add to that, Grissom's slightly critical comment to Sara at assignments the other day and well, it was easy to put together. The girl was pissed, and it looked like the FBI agent was now number one on Sara's hit list.

Grissom opened the door to his office, "I appreciate you coming in to meet us. I guess we'll see you 'officially' on Monday night then."

"Sounds good." Rachel grabbed her coat from the chair and followed Grissom across the hall into the briefing/conference room.

Greg quickly stood, going over the 'stats' silently while Grissom started his introductions with Catherine and Sara. 'Approximately five feet, five inches tall. Oooh, carrying a jacket, black, and leather. Niiiice.' This was the first time Greg had been able to see Rachel up close though. Her face was a fair, pale tone and was a striking contrast to her dark auburn hair. It was wavy and fell to just below her shoulders.

Her eyes met his, and she stood with her head tilted slighted down, her eyeslooking up at him expectantly, smiling slightly. Her eyebrows were arched and her eyes… well, they… they were different. They were almost blue, or were they gray, or even yet were they green?

Rachel continued looking at him, almost confused by his silence to her greeting wondering, 'Did he even hear me?' She glanced at Catherine briefly, smiling, in a silent plead for help.

Catherine slapped his shoulder, "Say hello, Greg."

He snapped out of his trance, "Hello, Greg--- um I mean Agent Elliott,"

"Please—'Rachel' is fine," she smiled genuinely and winked as she shook his hand. "Nice to meet you Greg," and then whispered, as if being conspiratorial, "Archie tells me you're my coffee connection…"

"Oh yeah… absolutely. Your wish is my command."

Sara stepped around Catherine, and tersely interjected, "Grissom, excuse me… I have to get back to my microscope. Nice meeting you, Rachel."

Grissom responded. "Uh, okay. Sure, Sara."

Rachel hurried to respond before Sara swept out of the room. "Thanks. You too. Talk to you later."

Grissom had stepped into the hall to allow Sara to pass and watched her stride down the hallway, and thought silently to himself. He then saw Stokes and Brown coming down the hall. They nodded to Sara as she passed them without words. Nick looked back at her as she continued on without breaking stride.

"Hey Gris, we're here to meet Agent Double-O…, where is she?" Nick asked, slowing down just outside the doorway.

Rachel was still standing just inside the doorway, "Right here," she laughed, extending her hand to Nick as he entered the room, followed by Warrick, "Hi. I'm—"

"Rachel?", Warrick stood staring in disbelief.

Her eyes went from Nick's and locked immediately onto Warrick's face, and she was speechless. Greg, ever the master of the obvious, stood watching with renewed interest, "so, you two… know… each other?"

Rachel quickly managed to recover from her shock, her eyes went from face to face in the room. The truth, or at least mostly the truth was the best when caught completely off guard. "Yeah, actually. We met briefly, at… uh.. in Knoxville, the Body Farm? Summer course with Dr. Bass, before he retired, right?"

Warrick tilted his head back slightly, analyzing. He considered her response, "Yeah." He didn't know what else to add, if anything. His voice deepened a bit. "I think that was it."

She smiled mechanically, and turned to Nick, "Let's try that again…., hi there. Rachel Elliott."

"Hey, Rachel. I'm Nick. How's it going? Ya know, I didn't mean anything bad by the uh, 'double-0' comment."

She chuckled lightly, "No offense taken. Believe me, I'm used to worse…." She suddenly felt overcome and woozy, and touched her hand lightly to her forehead, "Oh…".

"You okay, there Rachel?" Catherine asked concernedly as she stepped forward to take Rachel's elbow. She noticed Rachel's white shirtsleeve had a smear of blood on the inside elbow. "Ah, let me guess, the compulsory blood donation?"

She chuckled lightly in response, "Yeah, something like that… I'm fine—really."

Catherine glared at Grissom. "Couldn't even wait a day?"

He shrugged innocently.

Rachel needed to get back to her office and maintain what dignity she had. Getting dizzy in front of everyone like that. Argh! "Well, I'll get out of your way, I'm sure you're all very busy with cases. So, uh, thanks again Gil, for the, uh case file. I'll be in touch on it."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Gil asked.

"I'm fine. Really. I need to finish up in my office and then I'll head home. Thanks again. Good night."

Rachel reached her office, secured the door behind her and snapped her blinds shut. "I don't believe it…," she wondered breathlessly.

'Okay, pull yourself together, Elliott,' she thought and breathed deeply, slapping the folder on the desk. She moved a box that had been piled in her chair and sank into it. 'You're a professional. It's been over five years. You can handle this. Just be calm, cool and do your job. Professional.'

She snapped back to the here and now when she heard a voice, "Uh, hey there.. uh Rachel."

She looked up and saw Greg tentatively pushing the door open.

"Hi, Greg. What can I do for you?"

"The question is… what can I do for you?" and with a flourish he brought a tall cup of steaming coffee from behind his back, gesturing to it as if it were a prize on a game show. "I know Grissom's whole Dracula gig can really drain ya, 'ba-duh-buh', pun totally intended by the way… so uh.. thought you might feel better if you got a jumbo jolt of java…" He walked over and sat on the corner of her desk.

She couldn't help but laugh a little. "Oh, thanks. You're such a lifesaver," she greedily accepted the coffee and took a sip right away.

"Wow… Nice digs," Greg offered, looking around at the office. Granted, it wasn't quite the size of Grissom's but still… She had a brand new computer, and had brought in several boxes of books, manuals and journals from her personal library to fill her bookcases. "What's this,?" he asked jokingly, referring to a black briefcase, "your sniper rifle?"

"How'd you know that?," she answered seriously, leaning back and taking another sip of coffee. "Well, yes. Actually it is."

Greg's eyes grew large, and Rachel couldn't help but laugh, "...actually the contents are very important. You know, meticulously compiled sources, references, files and the always super important, though top secret personal files…

"Personnel?", he questioned, worried if she had some sort of dossier on him.

She laughed, "No. Per-son-al," and then feigning a serious expression, "Let's keep it just between you and me—but," she dramatically snapped open each clasp to the case, and raised the lid to display an MP3 player, ear buds, and several discs with various labels. "Sometimes I work better if I have music." She laughed, "I'm gonna load them on my computer later too…"

Greg looked like he had went to heaven. "What genre's?"

"You name it. It depends what mood I'm in…. Have a look…"

Rachel felt better after the coffee and relaxed conversation. After several minutes of incessant pleading, she had even relented to loan Greg a couple of her music file backup discs. Alone in her office again, she couldn't help but smile at him. She sighed deeply, gathered her belongings and went home.


	5. Convergence Chapter 4

**"Convergence"**

**Chapter 4**

The next few days for Rachel were busy with orientations and meetings—much as she had expected it would be. Director Cavallo talked with her and asked her if she would initially work days with Ecklie for a while, though she would still have regular meetings with Butler on swing shift and Grissom from third shift. After a brief stint in days, the LVMPD would then schedule her hours more in the late evening and night—their busiest times.

She was fine with that – extra time to familiarize was always good, and it didn't hurt that it gave her more time to get used to the idea of interacting with Warrick again. It was just…well…, weird, for the lack of a better word, especially after all the time that had passed since she had seen him last. It was rather hard to believe it had been over ten years ago.

Rachel exhaled deeply as she navigated her way home to her newly rented townhouse. She took a circuitous route there in an attempt to unclutter her mind. '_Just forget all that for now… Let's focus on the positive_…' she thought, again breathing deeply. She was just glad that she was going to be able to actually 'settle' into one place for a change. Since landing employment with the Bureau, she had rarely spent longer than a few months in any location. She did consulting on a variety of cases and investigations, attended conferences or various training sessions—all requiring travel. Then she landed under Culpepper's purview and travel wasn't as frequent. But the one constant was that she allowed her career to pretty much consume her. It was only for a couple of years at the beginning of her FBI career that she hadn't been on the move. She was tired of that—tired of running. She hadn't felt settled in a long while, at least not since she was a child.

Rachel smiled without thinking at the thought of her childhood. She had been born and raised in Asheville, North Carolina to parents who still lived in the same house where she had grown up. No matter the number of different posts in varied places to which she had been assigned, she never quite managed to lose that slight hint of a Carolinian accent. It probably made her stand out a little more, which had both its good and bad points. It made her more unique she thought, but sometimes people underestimated her because of it, and she always loved to prove them wrong.

But no matter how she succeeded in life thus far, a part of her always felt a little fragile, as if she were cast adrift, and was just floating along… lost. Maybe she felt that way because of the demanding schedule, she didn't know. She only knew she detested that feeling. But why did she feel that way? Her life now had a purpose and she was good at it. Yet, she felt full of contradictions. On one hand she sometimes felt almost—exiled, but yet another part of her enjoyed that same freedom that the nature of her job offered. After all, every day was different.

The job made it easy to create distance between her and others if she so chose. Which, she admitted to herself had, as of late, been more often than not. Because there was no history, there were no expectations. She hadn't always been that way… Not with Warrick, and not with Danny.

'_Okay…. This __is__n't working_,' she muttered. She shook her head to try to disperse her mental dialogue. '_Just shut up__. Stop thinking__'_. She always had the tendency to overanalyze. No attempt on her part to articulate this dichotomy or understand it any further was ever successful. She just had to accept, as well as she could, that it was simply who she was.

She was the product of a convergence—of who she was and who she had become. A

convergence of the past and future, and a convergence of truth and lies.

Hand on her hips, Rachel assessed the state of her living room. Boxes were scattered all around, many untouched and some partially unpacked. Despite that, she didn't have a lot of clutter. Much of what she had brought with her to Vegas had been in storage for years, so she was able to pitch a lot of it straight into the garbage. "It's starting to come together," she spoke aloud. She then unconsciously pulled her thick hair loose from its ponytail and fixed it back again.

Though she tried, she still couldn't get that first meeting with Brown out of her mind. He was different now. Almost… weighted down… subdued or something. She had originally met him in Knoxville at the University of Tennessee's Forensic Anthropology Center, known by most as the Body Farm, made famous by the author Patricia Cornwell. She recalled that they were both taking some type of anthropology summer course. It was during her senior year of college.

During the span of the short summer they had begun a relationship, and in that time, she had felt like she was really living for the first time. He stayed with her for a few weeks after the course was over, and then one day—he just was gone. She never expected that she would ever see him again after that summer. Even when Culpepper offered her the liaison position with LVPD, she hadn't even readily remembered the minute detail that Warrick was from Vegas. It had just been a grain of information long buried in her mind, forgotten until now. She now vaguely remembered something about UNLV and that his Grandmother was so proud that he went to college.

Now, after their startling reintroduction, her feelings on the idea of interacting with him again ranged from a serene and stoic professionalism to a simmering and potent anger. Again, she comforted herself with the reminder that she would have time while working the day shift to sort out her thoughts before dealing with him on a day-to-day basis. Time. She was grateful for it.

She mentally shifted gears by guessing that her first real challenge of this job would be dealing with Ecklie on day shift. Little did she know—she would be doubly wrong.

Later the next evening, after continuing with even more of the seemingly endless policy and orientation meetings with various LVPD personnel, Rachel was entrenched back in the confines of her still unorganized and very cluttered office. Suddenly, the door to her office burst open.

Sara entered the room looking very much as she had when they first met—singularly focused. She didn't even wait for Rachel to speak as she slammed the door closed behind her. "I wanted to talk with you."

Rachel was a little surprised, but stood up and extended her hand to greet Sara, "I'm glad. I don't think we had much of a chance to talk the other---"

"Listen, you can drop the little niceties. I'm not interested in your attempts at southern charm."

Rachel was completely dumbfounded. "Okay…uh" she hesitated momentarily, withdrawing her offer of a handshake. Her voice hardened slightly, "Pardon me, but I really have **no** clue as to what I've done to offend--"

"Let me make something very clear with you." Sara took a solitary step forward.

Rachel remained silent for a moment while she tipped her head back slightly, eyebrow arched, and stared at Sara, almost in challenge. She was not in the mood for this. Her jaw tightened, and she then responded, "I wish you would. I have always appreciated a direct and forthright manner."

"It's really simple, actually." Sara stared at her with fierce intensity. "Stay out of my way. Stay out of my cases." Sara then turned on her heel, and threw open the office door, sending it crashing against the wall causing the blinds clattering back and forth against the door as she left. Sara nearly collided with Warrick on her way out.

"Whoa… Sara…sorry." The only response he got from her was a view of her back as she stormed down the hallway.

He stepped into Rachel's office and found her standing, rather stunned, behind the desk. "What the hell just happened?" she asked, rather stunned, before exhaling, throwing her pen on the desk and placing her fingertips on either side of her head, trying to decipher the chaos.

"I don't know," He said uncertainly, looking at her—also trying to get a grasp on what interaction he had just missed.

Rachel still looked pretty much the same as she had when they first met in Tennessee. Her hair was a little longer, and maybe she had a few more laugh lines, but she seemed even more beautiful than he'd remembered. She also seemed harder, more restrained and definitely more controlled. In the scheme of things he hadn't really known her that long, but he had always been adept at intuitively deciphering her actions. Then again, it hadn't been that hard back then. She had an authenticity—a genuine openness, but now… she was more veiled and definitely harder to read.

He shrugged, and stepped into the office, propping himself against the doorframe. "Listen, Sara can be a little edgy, even prickly sometimes. She's kinda like Grissom in that she's not always a people person."

"I don't know," she responded, shaking her head doubtfully. "Grissom is pretty easy actually, people person or not. So, Grissom I understand—well… mostly anyway. Sara, on the other hand, I do not." She plopped down in her chair and pondered a moment, and then asked him, her brows furrowed, "You think it's a turf thing? She's not like that with Catherine… is she?"

He simply shook his head 'no'. Warrick stood there a moment, debating, and then spoke, "Listen, this probably isn't the best time, but I'm wondering if we can talk?"

"Sure. Why not. I need the diversion. I'm guessing you got something good from the evidence on that 419 the other night? It was an accidental then—and not an murder?" She scooted up to her desk a bit more and sorted through a few papers as she spoke.

"No. Actually, Doc Robbins said it turned out to be 'natural causes', but this isn't actually about a case." he responded simply.

She nodded as she easily gathered where this was heading, and for a moment felt the instinct to flee the room. She steeled herself. "Uh," glancing over to her clock, "but isn't your shift getting ready to start?"

"Actually, no. I'm off tonight."

"Oh." She leaned back in her chain and resigned herself to not being able to delay this conversation any longer.

He continued, "You've been here, what, 10 hours now?" He already knew that it was more like twelve, because he'd checked the schedule and knew she'd had meetings on and off all morning. "So, why don't I buy you a drink. Looks like you need one."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Gee, thanks a lot."


End file.
